


Greed

by Neila_Nuruodo



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22094854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neila_Nuruodo/pseuds/Neila_Nuruodo
Summary: Nabriales is greedy.  He doesn't feel you've given him his full due.He intends to rectify this.
Relationships: Reader/Nabriales (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	Greed

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for Chie (thanks for being a major reason why I'm into the boy^tm) but aimed at everyone who loves Nabriales!

Your eyes threaten to glaze over as you stare at your computer, the light blurring into a colorful mess. How long again before the day is over? Sighing, you force yourself to refocus. A tremor rocks you from nowhere, and you gasp, gripping the edge of your desk in abrupt alarm. Was that an earthquake? The shaking builds, and you glance around in growing worry. Just as you begin to realize that nothing on your desk or shelves is rattling or moving, a footstep sounds behind you.

Still clutching at the stability of the desk you turn your head, eyes popping wide as a shadowy figure steps closer. Wondering eyes trace over golden spires rising above jagged purple sigils twisting downward together to disappear into blackness; your gaze follows gleaming blacked metal back up to a cowl and an all-too-familiar red mask. Compound eyes laugh at you, but the mouth beneath is not smiling.

Your lips part, jaw dropping helplessly in shock. His hand lands on the back of your chair and _jerks._ Your fingers slip off the now out-of-reach desk and fumble for another hold; the arms of your chair, while better than nothing, leave you at the mercy of the quakes that continue to off-balance you. Quakes, you realize, that affect only you… and before you is the reason why.

Your chair turns, the tremors finally settling down as you come to rest facing him. He grips your wrists in spiked gloves, pinning them securely against the chair, and leans in close.

“How dare you!” he growls.

“Wh-what?” You can do nothing but blink up at him in confused amazement.

“I work so hard to get a bare fraction of my due, go above and beyond _regularly_ for my contributions to be constantly overlooked or misattributed. And _this_ is your intended repayment?"

"What do you mean?" You force the words out through a dry throat.

"I think you know full well what I refer to." One hand releases your wrist, creeping up your arm. "There are so few who recognize my greatness. So few who acknowledge my majesty." Chill claws brush over your ear, tucking hair back before curving around your nape, fingertips coming to rest over your spine. For a moment, the tight lips soften around a sigh. “My champion…” A breath, and the wistfulness disappears as though it had never been. “How could you even _consider_ doing this to me?”

"Please," you plead. He wants to be placated, it seems. "I don't understand."

He leans in, toward your ear. The soft fabric of his hood brushes your cheek. “You thought, if only for a moment, to stop singing my praises.” His whisper tickles your ear. “I’ll allow that you must take care of yourself. I let you sleep. Eat. Work. Relax. I allow you all _kinds_ of indulgences, do I not?” He leans even closer; teeth close over the rim of your ear, the barest brush but a hint of threat. Only for a moment, a heart-stopping second of heavenly torment, then his lips caress over your ear’s aperture as he lowers his voice even further. “But I do not permit you to _stop.”_

You blink, warmth touching your cheeks. “Oh.”

“Yes.” He draws back slowly; the lips are curled now, dark amusement warming his expression. “A wholly unacceptable situation. One I intend to _rectify.”_ The smile grows, teeth showing now. The predatory expression makes your heart kick, breath freezing in your lungs for a moment. The hand behind your neck tightens, pulling at you. “Stand.” The command is delivered in a hard tone, one intended to brook no disobedience.

You stand.

He gives you a gentle shove toward the desk, and as you glance back at him in apprehension you glimpse the open door. He follows your gaze. A twist of his finger summons dark energy to push the door closed, though it doesn’t quite latch. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, grabbing you by one shoulder and the opposite hip. He levers you down, not forceful but coaxing as his body glides up behind your own. His hips press against your buttocks, and you seize the edge of the desk in a sudden and desperate grip as you bow for him.

“How can I make it up to you?” you gasp, grasping the nature of the game and finding yourself most interested in playing.

The metal chasing on the front of his robe presses into your back; even through your shirt you feel it. You shiver as his lips settle near your ear. “Hmm. Perhaps there is a way…” His hand releases your hip, satisfied with how your body is cradled beneath his, and slides around you, slipping beneath the hem of your top and splaying gloved fingers over your abdomen. You draw in a hissing gasp at the prick of icy metal. “Show me your remorse. Convince me it will not happen again.”

You feel your face go hot. You’ve got a few ideas for how you’d like to do that, but will he be interested? You press back against him, experimentally, and - ah yes. It seems he finds the idea _stimulating_ as well. He makes a soft sound, like a half-strangled grunt, as you press against his erection, so you do it again. He remains still above you, but you can feel the tension in his frame as he retains firm control over his body’s reactions. It seems you will need to do a bit more than that.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, careful to keep your voice low. If someone outside your door heard you speaking they might just assume you’re on the phone… or they might not. “It was a mistake… I’ll never do it again. I swear.” You accentuate your vow with an extra firm backward press; at this he reacts, rolling his hips against you. The beginnings of forgiveness, you hope; you sigh at the sensation of him, even through all the layers of cloth separating you.

“Good,” he croons back. “Glad I am to hear it. But how will you atone for wronging me so cruelly?”

Your face burns even hotter. “I’d like to make it up to you. Will you let me please you?”

Leather smooths over your skin as his hand shifts from your shoulder to slide up your neck. Fingers twine through your hair, pushing it up and away to bare your nape. His lips brush just below your hairline, directly over the spine. “You don’t get to move until I’m satisfied. How do you intend to do that like this?”

You can absolutely think of a way, but you’ll need his cooperation. “Please,” you whine, and grind your hips back against him. A whimper, quickly stifled, slips from your lips as he rubs against you in response. “Help me out here… I want to feel you.”

With agonizing slowness, his lips kiss and nibble their way toward your jaw, then your own lips. His hand at the base of your skull controls your head, turning you toward him as _he_ desires, preventing you from turning to capture his lips as you so want to.

Finally his lips seal over yours, hot and hungry. Groaning against his mouth, you squirm under him, needy. He takes his time, licking at your mouth, then catching your lower lip between his teeth to tug at it before finally releasing you with a satisfied smile.

“What else have you for me?”

Your breathing comes out ragged, rushed. “I… I want to give you more. To give you everything.” He tilts his head, thoughtful. “Please. Master,” you groan.

He reacts to the honorific, hands tightening over you and lips parting for a moment before curving into a confident smirk. For a moment you think he is finally placated, finally satisfied. But his smirk turns dark.

“Master, hmm?” He leans closer, lips pulling back to bare his teeth. “I like that… Say it again.”

“Please, Master,” you moan, breath hitching as he grinds harder against you.

_“Make me believe it,”_ he hisses.

“Oh,” you groan, your head falling limp. It takes a moment to master your body’s response to him, and when you speak again, your voice is unsteady. “Please, Master, I’m begging you. I want - I _need_ you inside me. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life. I am yours, entirely yours.”

For a moment he is silent; his own breath comes quickly, ghosting along your neck and shoulder. “Good.” His hand slides down your stomach, finding the catch of your pants and releasing it. Slowly he slides them down, snagging your underthings at the same time. You tremble as his hips move again, rubbing himself against your now bared skin. He chuckles, hiking the robes up and over you before working loose his own pants.

You gasp and jerk at the pressure of hot flesh against your skin. Oh, _god,_ he feels amazing, and your hands clench tighter in their grip on the desk as he presses against you, his erection cresting your tailbone.

“Fuck,” you gasp, overwhelmed as he shudders against you.

He chuckles, voice showing hints of strain. “Mmm, you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

You turn burning eyes over your shoulder. “Fuck me, Nabriales. _Please._ Right here, right now.”

He laughs softly. “I see I am not the only demanding one. Very well; let this serve as your penance.”

He pulls back, and the head of his shaft slides down the crevasse of your buttocks. Your spine snaps into an arc, your head falling back; one hand curves up to catch your jaw and hold you in place. His lips work down the rim of your ear, and he draws the lobe into his mouth, teasing and plying it with his tongue. At the same time you feel his fingers between your thighs - skin on skin; his glove disappeared to who knows where - as he eases you a bit wider.

One finger dips into you, teasing deeper and deeper before withdrawing, satisfied with your readiness. You shudder as he presses the head of his erection against you, but he slides past without sliding _in,_ leaving you sobbing in need. You cannot stifle another needy sound when he does it _again,_ and he chuckles, clearly enjoying your desperation.

“Never again,” he growls against your ear. “Say it.”

“Never again,” you moan, almost sobbing.

“Good,” he says, and sheathes in you with one powerful stroke. The hand on your jaw claps over your mouth at the same time, and it is a good thing; even so it barely muffles your shout of ecstasy enough. Together you quiver, his weight trying your strength for a second before he recovers and begins moving within you. His fingers free your mouth, turning your face to his, and he claims your lips again with a murmur of pleasure. Barely able to move because of your position, you take full advantage of this access, tasting him, spurring him on. It works, making him thrust harder and faster in response to your desire. His lips slip from yours, trailing soft bites along the column of your throat.

His bared hand creeps up your front again, ducking beneath your bra to cup your breast. Fingers tug and roll the nipple, bringing it to a peak and continuing to tease it. He pauses in his ministrations, and his head pulls up, turning for a moment toward the door. A smile teases his lips as he leans close again, his whisper brushing your cheek.

"Quietly, now," he breathes. His fingers smooth over your jaw, your cheek, and come to rest over your lips. "It would be a shame if I had to _leave_ you in this state."

The mere thought sends a delicious shiver of horror over you. You bite down harder on the whimpers of pleasure that seem determined to break out, trying to strangle them. He has no mercy, continuing to rail you - if anything, going faster to try and break your composure. His fingers weave into your hair, pulling gently but firmly back, and his teeth sink into the base of your neck. A groan escapes despite your effort, and you send a prayer forth to any deity that might be listening - perhaps Zodiark Himself will take mercy on His servant - that no one was close enough to overhear it.

Slowly you relax as no interruption comes, the door staying blessedly almost-closed. Warmth pools in your belly, along with gathering tremors as his ungloved hand trails downward once more to find your clit. His other hand seals once more over your mouth as he draws a fingertip upward, making your hips jerk. You moan against leather as he works you toward completion, his own sounds muffled against your shoulder. His groans go abruptly desperate, and the sound combined with his finger crooking against your bud sends you sobbing into ecstasy.

He catches you before your weakened knees let you drop, sharp snapping motions of his hips accompanying partially-stifled grunts as he empties into you. His hand leaves your mouth, joining yours on the desk to keep the two of you upright; gasping breaths subside slowly, and he straightens above you, hands sliding possessively over you before he steps back, disengaging from where you are coupled.

Gently, he tugs your clothing back into place, running fingers through your hair before turning you to face him. He presses you back until your rear hits the edge of the desk, leaning into you once more - not demanding, just pressing close. He raises a hand, pulling off the mask and giving you a warm, private smile.

“I trust you have learned your lesson. Do not let it happen again…”

You shiver at the playful threat in his tone. Bold from his unmasking, you reach to him, winding arms around his neck and stealing a kiss. He smiles against you, seeming amused, pressing you back against the desk’s edge as he returns the gesture. His hands crawl up you once more, and there is something of avarice in the gesture, how he lingers here and there. He draws back and sighs.

“Alas, the great work calls. I cannot neglect it.” A pointed glance checks to make sure you have understood the significance, the parallels. A wicked grin swells. “Mmm, but perhaps if you please me with your efforts, I shall find the time to let you know just how… satisfied I am.” With one last brush of his lips over yours, he mists away into darkness.

You sag with a gut-deep sigh, then run hasty hands over your clothing and hair, trying to disguise at least the most obvious signs of dishevelment. On still-shaky legs you make your way to the door, casually easing it open, and return to your desk. You freeze as you move the back of your chair aside.

There, to one side of the keyboard, his mask gazes up at you.


End file.
